Sherlock sees the land beneath them before Clement taps his shoulder to let him know they'll be arriving soon. Sherlock just nods and tries to pull a pleased face, not wanting his dad to ask how he feels.
Honestly, he's sick of his dad asking how he feels. Clement hasn't fussed this much about him since he was five-years-old and he accidentally slipped in the bathtub. He was finer then, but Clement bathed with him for a week and half. Even Sherlock, at the time, thought that was very odd.
Still, Sherlock can't help but be glad that he's hearing his dad's worried voice again. He didn't think he would ever again, and now he just considers himself lucky.
He still dreads returning to London. They told him it was normal if he didn't feel safe there anymore. Lestrade has already promised to keep protection on him at all times, and Clement has decided Sherlock needs to carry mace, at least, but that doesn't make Sherlock feel any safer. The only thing that makes him feel at least a little bit safe is that Ben is…somewhere else. They still won't tell Sherlock where Ben is, but he has the strong feeling that Ben is currently on an examiners slab ready to be cut open for autopsy.
What seems like short minutes later, the plane is parked on the tarmac at Heathrow. Sherlock heaves himself out of his seat like it's the hardest thing he's ever done. He doesn't want to be back, he doesn't want to go home. He doesn't want to see anyone, especially not with his face broken as it is. He doesn't want anyone fussing over him. He doesn't want the guilt he feels that Mycroft quit his job and moved home. He doesn't want to come to the realization again that his mother probably doesn't even know he went missing.
Still, he wants to see his dog. He wants to drink tea. And he wants things to get back to normal.
"You ready?"
"Mmm?" Sherlock asks, slowly turning his head to face Clement. "What?"
"We're nearly there. Are you ready? Are you okay? Do you need anything?"
Sherlock frowns. "I want to take a nap."
"Alright love," Clement says. "As soon as we get home."
Sherlock nods and stares out the window again.
They arrive five minutes later. As he gets out of the car, Sherlock can feel eyes on him from through the sitting room window. He doesn't wish to be on display like this. Sure, usually he'd love for everyone to fuss over him, he loved the attention when he bruised his jaw, but this time he just wants to be alone.
They get to the front door and Clement grasps his shoulder. "Alright?"
Sherlock forces a nod, then Clement opens the front door.
Nobody is standing at the door to greet him, thank god. He expected everyone to be surrounding the door, a mob not letting him rush up to his bedroom, but there's nobody there.
Sherlock pauses and closes his eyes, then breathes in deeply. The house smells like home, and he's finally glad to be back. He doesn't see himself leaving the house for a long while; he finally feels somewhat safer.
Then there's clawing at his leg. He cracks a little smile and opens his eyes, then he gets an armful of fluffy puppy. Mystery eagerly licks his chin and cheeks, and Sherlock hugs him tight. He wants to carry the dog upstairs and lock himself in his bedroom, but he knows everyone wants to at least say hello.
Sherlock lets Mystery lick him for just a second longer, then he puts the dog down on time for a bruising hug from Mycroft. Mycroft has always been affectionate with him (more affectionate than Sherlock likes, but it's actually limited to head kisses or a soothing pat on the back), but Sherlock can feel all of his brother's emotions. Mycroft hugs him so tight that Sherlock has to ask him to stop.
Mycroft backs away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says. "I just—"
"I know," Sherlock says.
Then Mycroft's pushed aside. Declan hugs him next, then Lestrade, then Olive (who cries against his shoulder), and finally Sherlock is face to face with John.
John has tears in his eyes. He looks so happy, happier than he's ever looked with Sherlock.
Sherlock reaches out for a hug.
"Hi, love," John says with a bright smile.
Sherlock feels his body clench unexpectedly. Suddenly he has to throw up, and he doesn't think he can hold it in.
"Excuse me," he mutters, then runs upstairs to his bathroom.
Sherlock slams the door behind him, flicks a light on, and throws himself down in front of the toilet, quickly lifting the lid and throwing up for what seems like eternity. He can't stop it, and his body doesn't let him.
When he finally stops, he starts to shake. It's an anxiety attack, he knows, and he can't stop from curling into a ball on the floor and shaking; he lets tears fall, he sobs roughly on the floor.
His bathroom isn't facing outside, so there are no windows, and when he gets all the lights off, he finally starts to calm a bit. He sits against the door, his knees drawn up to his chest, and he takes deep breaths. He can't hear or see anything, and it's helping him think clearly.
Why did I react that way to John? he asks himself. Sherlock realizes he wasn't that excited to see John at all. When this whole thing started, the first time Ben woke him up, all he wanted was to hear John's voice and to hug John and to be with John, but as time went on he thought of John less and less.
After sitting on the floor in the dark for a while, there's a knock on the door.
"Who is it?" he asks, even though he can tell by the firm knock.
"Mycroft."
Sherlock stands and opens the door, wincing at the light in his bedroom. Mycroft steps into the bathroom and closes the door, blocking the light again. But Sherlock turns on one of the bathroom lights so he can at least see Mycroft.
"You okay?" he asks.
Sherlock shrugs. "I don't know. I don't know why I did that. It's just…hearing John's voice…I…" Sherlock shutters when he thinks of John's voice again. Why?
Mycroft licks his lips. "Look, Sherlock, you should know something."
Sherlock frowns. "What is it?"
"You see, the police found a whole lot of recordings of yours and John's conversations on Steele's computer. It seems he was playing them and…hurting you."
Sherlock frowns deeper. He slowly lifts his shirt sleeves to reveal the little already-scarring cuts all up his arm. "I thought…I thought they were from the zipties."
Mycroft looks like he wants to cry. He places both of his large hands on Sherlock's arms.
"I'm so sorry, Brother."
Sherlock sniffles, trying to hold back tears. "I don't want to feel this way."
"I know," Mycroft says, pulling Sherlock into a gentle hug. "We'll get you help, okay? You won't feel this way forever, I promise."
Sherlock cries against Mycroft's shoulder. "I want to love John still."
"I know," Mycroft whispers. "And he knows. It might take time."
"Does he hate me?"
"God no, Sherlock, no, he never will."
Sherlock sighs in relief.
Mycroft pulls back so they can talk again. "How did you feel when you saw him?" Mycroft asks.
Sherlock shrugs. "I felt…I don't know. I felt happy, but it wasn't like fireworks-joy or anything. It was just like…hey, there's John."
"I see," Mycroft says. "But you didn't feel like throwing up or any anxiety when you just looked at him?"
Sherlock shakes his head. "Not until I heard his voice."
Mycroft nods. "I see. We'll work on the speaking, but…do you want to see John?"
"Yes," Sherlock immediately says, surprised by his answer. "Yes, I do."
"Do you want me to go get him?"
Sherlock nods, his heart racing with nerves. He feels like this is his and John's first meeting. He feels all the happiness he should've been feeling while he was away. He doesn't overanalyze why that is, he just knows that suddenly his body it itching for John.
Mycroft disappears, so Sherlock splashes some water on his face then moves to wait for John in his bedroom. He wanders over to his desk, finding a brand new mobile and wallet, complete with all the cards that were in his old one.
There's a knock on the door and Sherlock takes a deep breath, then calls for John to enter. He does, slowly, then closes the door and just looks at Sherlock.
"Hi," Sherlock says.
John gives a friendly smile and wave.
It actually makes Sherlock laugh, which is terrible because this is a terrible ordeal and he shouldn't be laughing. Still, it helps him calm and he reaches out for John.
John takes him in a hard hug. Sherlock hugs back, his nose digging into John's hair. He feels so much better, even though he feels terrible that he'll probably throw up again if John's speaks. But he doesn't want to think about that now. He wants to hug John forever.
"I never thought I'd see you again," Sherlock whispers.
John squeezes Sherlock's back. Sherlock takes that as an agreement.
They hug for many minutes until finally Sherlock initiates a kiss. He's thankful that John doesn't go for one right away, but he's happy when John kisses back. They keep it simple, just a little peck, but since Sherlock never thought he'd see John again, it's enough. It's everything.
They don't say anything else, but Sherlock remembers how tired he is.
"I'm going to take a nap," he announces.
John nods. He motions to say something, but stops himself. Sherlock feels terrible at that.
John gives Sherlock a light kiss on the cheek, then moves for the door.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock asks without realizing it.
John points at the door.
"I…" Sherlock frowns and looks at the floor. "I mean, you don't have to stay if you don't want to, but—"
John shakes his head and grabs Sherlock's hand. He signals 'after you' to the bed, so Sherlock toes his shoes off and climbs in.
They lay facing each other. Sherlock's eyes drift closed and he's okay that John is still staring at him, but after a few minutes, John's hand stroking up and down his side feels like pins prickling him. It feels terribly uncomfortable, but he fears telling John to stop.
Finally, he decides he can't take it anymore.
"John, could you stop touching me?" he asks.
Immediately, John's hand retracts. Sherlock doesn't want to open his eyes to see John's hurt reaction, but he still apologizes.
Then, he feels a very delicate kiss to his nose. He takes that as an apology accepted, so he drifts to sleep listening to John's heavy breathing.